


Atonement

by Starboundwanderer



Category: American Horror Story, ahs: apocalypse - Fandom
Genre: F/M, but now it's fueled by a vicious need to fix what they did, i'd already started it before the finale, it's another Hades and Persephone AU, welcome to my spite fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-08-23 19:58:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16625483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starboundwanderer/pseuds/Starboundwanderer
Summary: When Michael hears about a witch more powerful than Cordelia, he goes to see if the rumors are true.  When he sees Mallory, he makes a choice that will change their lives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Choo choo welcome to the spite train. Also this chapter is short, but they'll be longer in the future.

The forest was lush and green, save for one gnarled, dead oak. It was in the shadows of this that Michael Langdon watched, willing himself to be invisible to the rest of the mortal world. A few feet away, where the trees were sparse and the beginnings of a meadow, a girl walked.

Flowers bloomed where her feet had been, and she smiled as she tilted her head back to bask in the sunlight. She was quite pretty, he noticed, but then again all Cordelia’s little witches were. 

But Michael wasn’t interested in how pretty she was. No, he was interested in her power. There had been stirrings among the dead and living of a witch who was incredibly powerful—a witch who could reverse time itself. He could feel a soft power emanating from her, but it wasn’t anything special. He was doubting his instincts saying she was anything other than an average witch. 

Yet he waited. And watched.

She made her way gracefully across the meadow, and finally, finally, made it to the deer. It had been shot and was slowly bleeding out—he could feel its life slipping away, untethering itself to the earthly realm. She gasped and raised a hand to cover her cover her mouth as she came across the dying creature.

His footsteps made no sound and left no tread as he creeped up to watch. Her delicate face went from shock to dismay. He wanted to roll his eyes. Mortals always acted so surprised when something died, as if it weren’t prophesized from the day they were born. 

He watched her face set itself in determination. She knelt and place her hands above the gunshot wound. A wave of strong, undiluted wave of power hit him so strongly that he stepped backwards. He watched in shock as the wound knitted itself together and the deer became smaller, reverting to a fawn.

The girl only smiled at the creature. It rubbed its head against her palm and then shot into the woods. Michael stared in utter shock as she stood and wiped dirt from her dress. 

There was a witch more powerful than any before. A witch who would soon take the crown of Cordelia Goode.

And she would be his. He felt it in his soul—or whatever part of him resembled a soul—that they were simply meant to be with each other. Equals, with someone who could understand the burden of great power.

But she was starting to walk away, back to her coven. Michael knew he had to act fast; Cordelia would never be too far from her precious witches, and he’d lose her forever. This opportunity to have her would never come again.

Before he could wonder if it were a good idea, he made himself visible, transmutated behind her, and wrapped his arms around her small frame. 

They had disappeared beneath the earth before her scream had finished.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three months have passed and Mallory is still adjusting to her new circumstances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s some typos cause I wrote this late at night, but I’ll fix them soon!

It’s surprising how quickly we adjust, Mallory thought. She had been Michael’s prisoner—guest, he had the audacity to call her—for almost three months now. 

She wandered the hallways of his seemingly endless mansion with an uncomfortable familiarity. The floors were black marble with veins of silver and gold; the walls were all dark mahogany and crimson; and the windows looked out on a black sky dotted with a few silver twinkles of light. Other than that, there was nothing--no sun, no moon, no day, just a never-ending night.

She had spent much of her time avoiding Michael, exploring the mansion at her own leisure; it wasn’t as if there was much to do in the Underworld. 

One day, about a month after she’d been kidnapped and on a day she had been particularly inclined to ignore Michael, she had come across a door that gave off a foreboding aura. It was tall and thin, and whenever she got close to it, her very bones had felt frozen. A horrible sense of bleak anguish washed over her. She felt tears of mourning and loss welling up in her eyes, though she wasn’t sure exactly who or what she was mourning.

As if sensing she was about to cause trouble, Michael appeared out of nowhere, gently wrapping his hand around her wrist. He walked her back a few steps until they were out of range of whatever power the door had. Mallory felt the overwhelming sadness slowly leave her, but a hollowness still sat in her chest.

“What’s behind there? It feels so…hopeless.” 

“I don’t think you’re quite ready for that, my darling,” he told her.

She’d yanked her wrist away, ignoring the tingling feeling where their skin had met. She’d met his eyes.

“You say I’m your equal, your queen, but you won’t tell me about a part of my own kingdom?” 

He’d pursed his lips and sighed, even rolling his eyes a bit at her. “That,” he finally said, “is where all the punished souls go.”

“Punished? Like burning in hellfire?” She swallowed the lump in her throat. Her stomach knotted uncomfortably at the thought of so many in so much pain.

Michael smiled—a wide, Cheshire grin. “Hellfire is more of a metaphor. The punishment is different for each.”

“You…enjoy this?” she asked sickened. “You like the thought of people being tormented for all eternity?!”

He chuckled and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Mallory, every single person behind that door deserves what they get. You reap what you sow, and they sowed some very, very nasty things.”

The glee in his eyes was what sent her over the edge. She raised a hand and brought it across his cheek. She’d turned to return to her room before even seeing the look of shock and pain on his face.

 

Now, Mallory avoided him like the plague—she’d avoided him before, but now there was more purpose to it. 

She didn’t like the thought of being the damsel in distress, but it was all she could do as she waited for her Supreme to save her. Though she had yet to find a way to communicate with the Above, she still had faith. She knew Cordelia and her sisters would come for her; they wouldn’t leave her to rot with him. 

As memories of her time Above and a longing for sunshine rolled through her head, she aimlessly walked through the manor. Lesser demons in their human guises passed her: some carrying trays of food and drink, others busy cleaning. They all avoided meeting her eyes and ducked when they saw her coming. 

“Your Majesty,” one said, giving a deep bow. His human guise was, like all the lesser demons in Michael’s home, absolutely stunning. This one had dark hair and piercing gray eyes. But there was something disturbing about all of them, an emptiness in their eyes that made Mallory’s skin crawl. She gave him a nod and tried to move past him. He moved and blocked her path. She’d tried to step around him again, but he mirrored her.

“Yes?” she finally asked a bit snappishly. “Can I help you?”

The demon nervously stared at her shoes. She noticed sweat forming at his hairline and the tense set of his jaw. He was terrified, so much so that he was shaking.

Despite knowing what he was, despite the eerie perfection of his features, Mallory felt her heart soften a bit. She knew exactly how it felt to be that scared.

She put her hand on his shoulder. He jumped and stared wide-eyed at her.

“What do you need?” she asked more gently.

“M-Master has s-summoned you to the Throne Room.”

She gave him a sweet smile. “Okay. Will you escort me?”

He stood a bit straighter as he said, “It would be my honor, Your Majesty.”

“Just call me Mallory.” She put a hand on his crooked elbow and they set off to Michael. 

She lost track of the turns around the seventh one, and finally gave up on trying to keep track of where they were. This placed twisted and turned, and Mallory could’ve sworn it changed on a daily basis.

The Throne Room looked how she imagined the interior of Michael’s soul looked—gaudy. The floor was black marble like the rest of the manor, but giant black columns support the ceiling; three massive silver chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the candles dancing with golden flames; long tables lined the walls, each laden with decadent food; and Michael, in all his velvet-clad glory sat on a throne carved of onyx with precious gems set in it. 

When they reached him, he looked her up and down slowly. He pursed his lips at the sight of her touching the servant, and it made her smile to see a crack in his facade. The servant, however, quickly stepped away from her, trembling in fear again.

“You wanted to see me?”

He waved his hand to gesture her closer. When she didn’t move, he used his powers to pull her forward. Mallory resisted by throwing a wave of her own power at him, but it didn’t work—none of powers worked here as well as they did Above, as if there was a damper on them.

When they were toe-to-toe, Michael gazing up at her, she grit her teeth. There was a strange electricity between them when they were this close, and it made her brain fuzzy. She dug her nails into her palms to focus herself. As if sensing she was struggling being so close to his presence, Michael gave her a slow, devious grin. Her stomach flipped, and she hated herself for the reaction. He was stunning, a beauty like no other she’d seen but that was no reason to lose herself. He’s evil, she reminded herself.

“You’ve been avoiding me and doing it poorly.”

“Can you blame me for not wanting to see my kidnapper?” she snapped.

“Kidnapper? I beg to differ, my darling.”

“You literally stole me, Michael. You took me without any sort of permission.”

He frowned. “I freed you. A little gratitude would be nice.”

She laughed, trying to ignore the tears welling up in her eyes. “This isn’t freedom, and I certainly won’t be thankful for it. You stole me from my life, from my friends and family. You have to understand that you’ve damned me.”

He stood. She craned her neck to look back at him. Three months ago, she might’ve been scared of the anger in his eyes. But three months ago she was a very different person.

“You stole everything,” she whispered. “My home, my future…all of it. I was going to be the next Supreme.”

At this, his eyebrows rose. “Supreme? What do you—oh. You still think you’re just a witch.”

He laughed, throwing his head back and letting the sound echo throughout he chamber. He brushed past her and walked to the long table at the side. The servants kept their gazes down at their shoes, hands clenched tightly in front of them. She watched Michael grab an apple off the table and toss it from hand to hand, eyes bright with amusement.

“I am a witch,” she said, following him. Anger coursed through her veins and made her bold enough to jab a finger into his chest.

He gave her a lazy grin and took a bite of the apple. He turned the bitten side towards her. 

“Apple, my dear? Oh, that’s right,” he said in mock sarcasm. “I forgot you’re being completely obtuse and refusing to eat any food of this realm because of some legend one of those witches told you.” He shrugged and took another bite. “Silly me.”

“You are going to pay for stealing me. My Supreme and my coven will save me, and you’ll regret the day you took me.”

He leaned close to her, brushing her dark hair aside and letting his hand rest on the back of her neck. Mallory stiffened at the touch but didn’t push him away. She felt him putting his lips close to her ear, and then he whispered, “Doubtful that I’ll regret anything when it comes to you, Mallie.”

She shoved him away and turned on heel to leave. As she flung herself onto bed after making it back to her room, she wondered if he was still standing there with that devil's grin on his face.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cordelia visits the Underworld. Michael is not happy about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even I'm surprised at how quickly I'm writing these chapters. All typos are mine.

Michael watched her retreating form. His fingers were starting to go numb from gripping the apple so tightly. 

Three months. She had been there nearly three months and hated him. The day he’d brought her home she had screamed, kicked, and thrown wave after wave of her power at him. He’d noted that it was weaker but was far too busy being disappointed to notice it too much. 

Finally, when she’d attempted to sprint away, he’d used his own powers to render her unconscious and had a few servants carry her to her bedroom—gently, he’d ordered, or he’d rip their dark hearts out. 

He’d sat on his throne feeling a crushing sadness. How could she have reacted so? How could she not understand they were equals, meant to be together? It upset him so much that he barely even noticed the new souls entering his kingdom for eternal punishment, and it usually gave him such joy to see them get what they deserved; he even devised punishment for those who were truly atrocious and evil. 

Days passed and all he saw of her were the times she joined him for dinner, and that was only because he’d told her if he didn’t see her at least once a day, he’d have the demons carry her to the dinner table if he had to. And so she dutifully sat at the table, eyes focused intently on the painting lining the walls and hands gripping her skirts so tightly he feared the fabric would tear. 

“You’re wasting away,” he told her one night as he took a sip of wine. “If you intend on dying by starvation, then just know that I'll have your soul the second it leaves your body.” 

She glared at him. “You can’t trick me. Queenie told me all about these realms—if I eat the food from here, I'll be trapped here forever by not only my soul but my physical body. And I'll be damned if I let you have any part of me.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, you certainly will be damned. But just know that’s all false. Our food has no way to bind you, my dear.” 

“Liar,” she said, shoving her plate laden with fruits and meats away. It knocked over the wine, which spilled a dark stain across the tablecloth. 

“Maybe,” he told her with a grin. He was lying—if she ate a single bite of any of the fruit from the Underworld, she’d be bound forever like this Queenie girl had told her—but it thrilled him to no end that she knew he was lying. It only proved further that they were meant to be together. 

But after a week of watching her get weaker and weaker, he’d become worried, a feeling he wasn’t accustomed to. Her face became pale and sallow; her eyes were glazed; and her movements became sluggish. 

And now, because she was stubborn, he had to send servants to surface for the sole purpose to getting food from Above. It all looked disgusting to him, but she had eagerly devoured it, and as long as she wasn’t actively dying, he was okay with using his resources to make special trips for her. 

The thoughts of her stubbornness, while thrilling most times, were angering him. He threw the half-eaten apple at the door she’d exited as hard as he could. 

“Leave me!” he roared to the Throne Room. The lesser demons quickly left, terrified of their master’s wrath. When he was alone, he used his powers to fling the food from the tables, the food he’d put there to purposefully tempt her. Everything every day for the past three months had been for her. 

With his hands he flipped the table and gave a frustrated yell. 

“Not quite the way I expected to see you behave,” he heard behind him. His anger mingled with disgust at the voice. 

“Cordelia. Haven’t you heard of calling ahead?” 

He turned to face her. The lovely Supreme stood in the midst of his destruction unfazed. But it wasn’t really her, just a projection. 

“Couldn’t find the door?” he snarked. “Had to astral project down here?” 

“I want Mallory back,” she said taking a step forward. “And I'm willing to make a deal.” 

“Oh, how brave, Cordelia, how noble of you to offer yourself up. But you can't replace her.” 

“I’m the queen of the witches. There’s no witch more powerful than me.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Exactly. There’s no witch more powerful than you. But my Mallory isn’t a witch, is she?” 

Cordelia’s eyes widened in surprise. Michael felt such glee at seeing her unnerved. 

“I’m not here to discuss her origins, Michael—” 

“No, you’re here to try and steal her away from me.” 

“You stole her first, if I remember correctly,” she said coldly. 

Michael sighed. He went and dramatically flopped onto his throne, putting one leg up over the arm of the chair and sitting lopsided in it. He was so bored with mortal’s morals. Stolen, borrowed, murdered, killed—none of it mattered, not when at their core all humans were so selfish. 

“Exactly how long have you known what she is, Miss Supreme? Was it the day she reversed time? The day you realized you weren’t fading in the face of such power? Or did you see those scars on her back?” 

“If you know what she is, then you know she can’t survive down here and earth can’t survive without her.” 

“What do I care if that planet rots?” 

“How can you be so selfish?” 

“I’m only human—well, half human. I guess that’s the selfish part.” 

“Is she already dying, wasting away in this place?” 

Michael broke her gaze. He’d pretended to not notice how despite eating regularly, she was still slowly losing weight and becoming less energetic. Cordelia stepped closer to him, dark eyes desperate. 

“Release her, Michael. Do the right thing.” 

The anger that had been seething beneath the surface burned in his veins. But he kept a calm, indifferent mask on as he replied, “No.” 

“Be reasonable—” 

“Goodbye, Cordelia.” He waved his hand and banished her astral projection from his kingdom. He felt her soul leave and return to her body Above. He rubbed his temples where a headache was starting to form. 

He was upset at many things, but perhaps most upset at the fact that her words were ringing true. Mallory was dying in his kingdom. He had thought that maybe if she did die he could just keep her soul down there, but he had a feeling that it wasn’t just her physical body wasting away. It was her very soul—every hour she was here she was a bit weaker. 

He stood and began wandering to calm his thoughts. Before he knew it, he found himself in front of her door. A lesser demon was quietly closing the door behind her. 

“How is she?” 

“She’s sleeping, Your Majesty,” she told him. 

“Was she upset?” 

“Upset? No, she just seemed very tired.” 

“Thank you. That’s all.” 

She nodded before ducking away. Michael stood outside her door for a few more moments, debating what he knew was a very bad idea. 

Finally, he quietly opened the door and stepped in her room. He’d given her the bedroom that as big as his with a massive cherrywood bed and matching furniture. By the candlelight, he saw she was curled on her side, back towards him. She’d changed into a loose-fitting, semi-sheer nightgown. As he sat on the bed, he could see the two thin scars beside her shoulder blades, paralleling her prominent spine. 

When the servants who helped her dress had told him about the scars, he’d been stunned. Marks like that were the marks of angels. Those were where their wings were supposed to be. But he knew she couldn’t be an angel, because he wouldn’t have been able to take her so easily. However, angel blood mixed with human would make sense—why her powers waned in the Underworld, why she could reverse time, why he’d felt so drawn to her. 

He rubbed his thumb across the scars. Mallory stirred in her slumber, but she was too exhausted to wake. She, like him, was only half human. Another sign their souls matched up in ways no others did. 

She sighed and rolled onto her back. Her face was illuminated by the soft candlelight, and Micheal was struck by how beautiful she was. A renaissance painting come to life. He ran a finger across her cheek before leaning down and placing a soft kiss on her forehead. 

She quietly whispered his name, and he sensed she was having a good dream, not a nightmare. His heart leaped to think he was in her dreams as she was in his. He pulled the covers up over her chest before leaving.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things don't go according to Mallory's plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm back! It's been a little while, but the holidays are done for now, and regular updates should be coming. Also, this chapter fought me tooth and nail to be written. 
> 
> Thanks for your patience! You guys are great :)

Mallory’s life had been very strange, even before the Lord of the Underworld had taken her. In her childhood, her grandmother, after watching her bring a bird back to life, had beamed with pride. She told her granddaughter that she was very powerful, but that it must remain a secret because some people wouldn’t understand.

Then the day after her grandmother’s funeral, she had been so distraught that she’d accidentally started floating in the middle of the night—that, Cordelia would explain, was her powers manifesting uncontrollably from stress. Her mother had walked in and screamed. Her father had yanked her down by her wrist, pulling so hard she was bruised for days, and Mallory could remember waking to two fearful faces.

They'd had priest after priest come in to try and “save” her, despite her constant pleas that she wasn’t possessed, that Grandma had said she was special. When Cordelia told the world about witches, she’d felt so relieved; surely her parents could see she was obviously one of them and could simply go live with the witches. But her parents claimed it was all the Devil’s work; their daughter wouldn’t be sucked into this cult.

So in the dead of the night, she left, never to see her parents again. She used her powers to keep herself safe all the way to New Orleans, though she liked to think Grandma had been looking out for her as well. She had been fourteen.

And now the coven was her family. But she had ended up separated from them, trapped in literal hell. If only her parents could see her now, she thought bitterly.

She spent dinner dining with the Devil’s son. She walked among demons every day. She occasionally watched sinful souls get their punishments chosen, but this was a difficult task, as she still hated the idea of eternal punishment—everyone deserved a second chance.

 _Maybe they were right,_ she thought. _Maybe I am evil, and all this is God punishing me._

How else could she have ended up here? Why else would the coven and Miss Cordelia not have contacted her yet? She was trying to hold onto her faith, but after yesterday, with Michael implying she wasn’t a witch, she was a bit rattled.

He lied, but she could always tell when his words held sincerity in them, and he at least believed she was something else. She absently wrung her hands together as Mira, her handmaiden, brushed her hair out.

She looked up at her reflection in the vanity. Her skin was pale, collarbones far too prominent, and face sallow. She was dying; she knew that deep down, and had a feeling Michael knew as well. Why else would she catch his worried glances at her, the fear in his eyes when he looked at the darkening circles under her eyes?

“Mira?” she said. The lesser demon met her gaze, eyes anxious.

“Yes, Mistress?”

“Does Michael have any spell books?”

“Yes, Mistress. He keeps them in his office.”

Mallory sat up straighter, hope flooding her veins like warm sunlight. Mira stopped brushing her hair out. “Could you show me?”

Mira dropped her gaze. She began braiding Mallory’s hair with far too much concentration.

“Master doesn’t like anyone in his office,” Mira finally told her.

Mallory turned in the chair. She took the lesser demon’s hands in hers. She was so used to Mira now that she didn’t even shiver at how cold they were—if anything, the coldness was a comfort now, as Mira was the closest thing she had to friend down here.

“He won’t hurt you if he finds out—which he won’t. Besides,” Mallory said with a grin, “he says this is my kingdom, too."

 

His office had tall windows with heavy, gold and black curtains hanging from them. A giant, claw-footed desk sat in the center of the room. Several painted portraits lined the walls with small plagues dictating who the subject was—the three she glanced at were of Miriam Mead, Constance Langdon, and Vivien Harmon. Mallory was surprised there was something personal in the office and that it wasn't all shine and glitter like every other part of the manor. There was some heart here. She ran her hand over Vivien's portrait, wondering who these women were and why Michael had found important enough to put them in his office.

“Here they are, Mistress,” Mira said, breaking through Mallory’s thoughts. She rushed to Mira’s side, on the opposite end of the room. The action left her heart beating a bit too fast and her head too light for comfort--the journey here had left her breathless and shaky, as if she’d run a marathon.

There was a tall bookshelf that she thought should’ve collapsed under the weight of the tomes lining each shelf. Her eyes scanned over their spines— _Republic_ by Plato, The _Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe_ , and _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ to name a few. _You pretentious ego maniac_ , she thought as she spied _Dante’s Inferno_.

“Mira, I need a spell book, not a philosophy or classic literature lesson.”

The handmaiden suddenly grabbed her arm. “Mistress, please—”

“I won’t let him hurt you—"

“It’s not about him; it’s about you! You’re going to use this to leave us!”

“I--well...yes. I am.” She was stunned to see tears springing up in the lesser demon’s eyes.

“No, please, you can’t leave us!”

“Mira, I can’t stay here. I-I'm sorry.” And she was shocked that she meant it. She was truly remorseful that she was going to leave them. None of them had been unkind to her.  
In fact, many of them had comforted her at her lowest points, had helped pull her from the depths of sorrow. She put a hand on Mira’s beautiful face, wiping the tears away the way her mother used to so many years before.

“We just...we all love you so much, Mistress,” she gasped between sobs. “You’ll take the light when you leave, and Master will be so distraught.”

“I promise he won’t hurt any of you when I leave. I’ll cast a spell; I'll do whatever I have to keep you all safe.” She felt a fierce protectiveness rise up in her. These beings didn’t deserve the mistreatment she was imagining at the hands of Michael. How bad had things been before she got here? She moved her hands to Mira’s shoulders.

To her surprise, the handmaiden laughed. “He doesn’t harm us; he’s just had so much heartbreak in his life. I fear you might kill him if you leave, and then where will we go? He’s by far the kindest one in this realm. He protects us from his father and the others.”

“Others?”

The lesser demon nodded, wiping away the tears. “The other princes of hell. They’re all so awful to our kind. They mock him and say he’s decent to us because of his human side, which is a grave insult, Mistress.”

“But...” Mallory’s brow furrowed.

“He’s not the great evil you make him out to be. Here,” Mira said bending down to the lowest shelf. She made some strange symbol in the air to undo what Mallory realized was a cloaking spell. “This is his most powerful spell book. I don't even know what's in there, but please think about the consequences before you leave.”

And then she left the room, leaving Mallory with a book in her hands and a choice suddenly weighing on her.

 

 

She studied the book in the solitude of her room for hours. The words blurred together and the old magic binding it together made her fingers numb from touching the pages.

And she discovered it was useless to her. Even the simplest spell in it was vastly more complicated than anything she’d attempted Above--her magic had been instinctual; she had always struggled more when it came to process and planning. But besides that, not one spell could help her escape back Above.

She slammed the book shut with shaking hands and hid it under one of her many pillows. The knock, knock, knock on the door punctuated her growing headache.

“Come in,” she said softly, hoping they’d be able to hear her.

The door quietly creaked open and Cassian, a lesser demon, poked his head in.

“Dinner time already?” she asked, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. Time has slipped away from her today.

“Yes, Mistress. Are you feeling okay?” he asked as she stood and wobbled a bit. She felt sweat starting to form at her hairline, despite feeling cold.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

She started walking despite her blurring vision. She was vaguely aware of Cassian following behind her, but didn’t pay him much attention. The way to the dining room was the one pathway she was certain of in the whole mansion.

She threw the double doors to the dining room open. It was a grand room with a giant, ornate fireplace that was constantly roaring with a fire and a table large enough to seat forty, though it was always just them. Michael sat at the head of the table on the far end of the room, as usual.

“Mallory?” he said as she entered. He stood, chair squeaking across the tile loud enough to feel like knife in her head.

Her legs shook. She fell to her knees, and he was there inhumanly fast to catch her, carefully bringing them both to the floor and setting her between his long legs. She rested her head against his chest when he pulled her close. She heard his heart beating fast and realized she had thought he, like the lesser demons, didn’t have a heart.

“Michael,” she mumbled against his silk shirt. She closed her eyes. As often as she made fun of them, they _were_ soft and felt so good against her skin. “Michael.”

She felt a cool hand touching her face and an arm tightening around her middle.

“Damn it, you’re burning up.” His soothing voice—yes, she had always found his voice soothing she could finally admit to herself—sounded muffled, as if she had cotton stuffed in her ears.

“Burning up in the Underworld. So cliché.” She wrapped a hand around his lapel, desperate for something to ground her as the world suddenly felt like it was spinning.

He took a deep, bracing breath. Then he picked her up like a groom carrying his bride and started walking. She had no idea where they were going, but Mallory realized with a strange jolt that she wasn’t worried about anything bad happening to her because she was with Michael.

He loved her. It didn’t make it right; it didn’t mean she suddenly loved him back. It didn’t mean she had lost her right to be angry at him. But it meant she was starting to understand him, this enigma who'd yearned for her to be so close and yet pushed her away.

She opened her eyes. A few tears trailed down his cheeks, and she reached up to wipe them away. He looked at her, startled at the contact.

“You love me,” she blurted out, thumb rubbing circles on his cheek.

“Yes.”

“That’s why you took me?”

“I thought that was obvious.”

“I could’ve loved you if you hadn’t taken me.”

His Adams apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I know, Mallie.”

 

And then the world went black. She didn’t know if she’d passed out or if he’d used his magic on her, but the next thing she knew, she was staring at the white ceiling of Miss Robichaux’s. She turned her head to the side, hardly daring to believe it. Tears streamed down her face at the sight of sunshine, blinding and beautiful, flowing through the window.

She tried to sit up in the fluffy bed, making her head spin and her muscles ache. She gasped at the pain.

“Calm down, Mallory. There’s plenty of time for that.”

She looked the corner of the room, finally noticing her Supreme in the rocking chair. Her throat was tight and she couldn’t speak because of the sobs choking her as Cordelia stood, moved to the bed, and wrapped her arms around her.

“You’re home. You’re safe now.”

“I’m home,” she repeated, hoping Cordelia didn’t hear the soft note of uncertainty in her voice.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael dreams of Mallory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter, but the next one is pretty lengthy. Things get a little ~*spicy*~ in this chapter, just FYI. I'm also not very good at ~*spicy*~

Michael had done very few good things in his life and even fewer selfless things.  Returning Mallory to the surface was probably the best act he’d ever done. 

  When he’d laid her down on the bed at Miss Robichaux’s, Cordelia had been watching his every move a few steps behind him.   But he didn’t care, not one bit; this was his moment to say goodbye.  His last time to ever even look at her, for he knew he couldn’t see her face again or he’d give in to the temptation to take her for his own. 

 “Goodbye, my love.”  He kissed her forehead, ignoring the Supreme’s soft gasp behind him. 

  He straightened and faced Cordelia, concealing his sorrow behind an indifferent face.  She looked confused. 

  “You love her,” she said with certainty.  

  “Do you think I would’ve taken her to my kingdom if I disliked her?” 

  She moved around him and to Mallory’s side.  The motherly affection in the way the witch queen laid her hand on his Mallie’s forehead made him look away.  This was painful enough without bringing his own mommy issues to the surface, he realized. 

  He began to walk away, leaving Mallory with the protection and love of her coven.   

  Away from him.  Because he couldn’t love anything without killing it, as the portraits in his office attested to. 

  “Michael,” he heard from behind him.  He stopped and looked over his shoulder.   

  “What?” 

  “You actually did the right thing, and we’re all grateful you’ve brought her back.  But don’t ever mess with my girls again.”  The threat was clear in Cordelia’s voice. 

  He smiled at her, the one Mallory called his devil’s grin.  The one that promised so much in it. 

  “Why would I bother with your witches when I had an angel?” 

 

   

  And now she haunted his dreams.  He’d dreamed of her often when she was there, but now, a month and a half into her being Above, she was featured every night.  Some were peaceful, him holding her in his arms.  He whispered how much he loved her in her ear, and she told him she loved him back.   

  Others were not--those were the dreams where his skin burned where she touched and she kissed him as if it were the last thing she’d do.  He pulled her hair; she raked her nails across his back.  They gasped each other’s names and murmured how much they missed each other.       

  This dream had started as the first but had turned into the other.  He kissed her as he laid her down on his bed, hands tangling in her hair.  She gasped as he gently scraped his teeth against her neck and ran his hands across the planes of her stomach. 

  He had her pinned beneath him, but then Mallory pushed him back, straddling him as she brought her mouth down on his.  Michael was not at all opposed to this change.  He let out a soft sigh as she kissed his chest, nails lightly scraping at his ribcage.   

  Then she stopped.  She let her forehead fall to his chest. 

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. 

  “I just...I know I'll wake up and you’ll be gone,” she confessed. 

  His brow furrowed.  “Wake up?  What do you mean?” 

  “This is all a dream, Michael.  When I wake up, I'll be alone again.”  He ran a hand up her spine in what he hoped was a soothing manner, but with the absence of clothes, it may have come off another way. 

  “No, when  _I_  wake  _you’ll_ be gone.” 

  She sat up, eyes wide with confusion.  “What?  No, this is my dream.” 

  Michael sat up, hands grabbing her waist to keep her steady.  She tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear. 

  “This is my dream, Mallie.”  He stopped, realization dawning on his face.  “Or rather—this is  _our_ dream.  We must be projecting into each other's dreams, my dear.” 

  “Wait, wait--are you saying that this is real?  You’re—oh!”  She scrambled off his lap, hands reaching to cover her bare chest.  Michael handed her a blanket, which she quickly wrapped around herself.  Her face was red, and she gave an indignant huff. 

   Unable to help himself at the sight of her blushing and hair disheveled, Michael snickered.  Mallory glared at him. 

  “This isn’t funny,” she said, throwing a pillow at his head.   

  He only laughed harder, and eventually, she gave in too.  The strangeness of their situation weighed on them both, and they were soon gasping for breath, stomachs aching and hearts suddenly lighter.  He stared at her as her laughter died into giggling, and she wiped tears out from under her eyes. 

  “Oh, Mallie,” Michael said as he scooted closer to her.  “I miss you.” 

  She stayed quiet.  She only stared at him, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.   

  “You miss me too,” he told her.  “Or that dream--and countless others these past few weeks--wouldn’t have happened.” 

  Her face flushed red again, and her neck became a bit splotchy too.  She tightened the blanket around her shoulders. 

  “Maybe,” she finally admitted.  “Then again maybe I just don’t know how I feel; maybe I'm just confused.” 

  He hesitantly placed a hand on her cheek.  He was pleasantly surprised when she closed her eyes and leaned into it.   

  “Or,” he whispered, “you just miss me.” 

  “Michael--” 

  Then he woke, staring at the canopy of his bed.  He wondered if Mallory was waking feeling as empty as he did. 

 

  The next morning a massive headache pounded in his temples.  He had his elbow resting on his throne’s arm and his head tucked in his palm.   

  “Still moping about your human, halfling?” he heard at the far end of the Throne Room.  Anger flared up in him at the voice. 

  “Astaroth,” he said, not bothering hide the disdain.  “Do you mind being horrid somewhere else?” 

  The demon prince smiled wickedly as he strolled up to the throne.  “I quite like being horrid here.” 

  “I thought my wards were up.” 

  “Oh, they are, but they’re not as powerful with you being so...morose,” Astaroth told him with a flamboyant wave of his hand.  “Almost seems like your throne is up for grabs?  Maybe you’ll wither into oblivion, and we can all take shares of a kingdom you never deserved.” 

  Michael slammed his fist down, palm and rings hitting the onyx loudly.  The other prince didn’t so much as flinch.  He stood and walked until he was nose-to-nose with the being he supposed his kin—in the way the boss’s child was related to his father’s employee. 

  “That threat will not be taken lightly in my kingdom--” 

  “With the way things are going, you moping and slacking on your duties, it won’t be yours much longer.”  Astaroth grinned again. 

  Michael, in a surge of fury, slammed him up against one of the thick columns with his telekinesis.  He threw him against the chandelier, sending the candles askew, and then put him on the ground, where he put his foot against Astaroth’s throat.  The other prince sneered up at him. 

  “You’re in my kingdom, and it will always be my kingdom.  Now get out.  If you don’t know the way, one of the lesser demons is taking out the trash, so I'm sure he’ll gladly take you too.” 

  As he sat back down on his throne, trying to calm his racing heart and slow his manic thoughts, he pushed back the niggling doubt that had been planted there by Astaroth’s words. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mallory discovers who she is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: there was a bit of a change it the previous chapter because I posted a bit preemptively, so I’d recommend going back and reading it to understand what’s happening here a bit more. Thank you for your understanding that plot changes and rewrites happen!
> 
> Here is the behemoth. This is by far the longest chapter in this work, and I'll probably edit it a bit tomorrow when I'm more coherent, but all fanfic is essentially an edit-in-process and again I thank you for your understanding! :) 
> 
> I hope this meets expectations! And all questions will finally be answered in chapter seven!

 

  The first few days after Michael had returned her to the surface, Mallory only slept.  Her body was recovering from the time spent in the Underworld, slowly repairing itself in ways she didn’t fully understand.  Cordelia came in and helped the process with magic occasionally, but she wasn’t fully coherent during those moments and just let herself be lulled by the soft waves of her Supreme’s power, which felt like sunlight coursing through her veins. 

  The dreams didn’t start until about two weeks later, when she was finally able to get out of bed and join her sisters for meals and start lessons again.  She had thought they were just her mind working out what had happened down below, but that didn’t explain the tenderness he touched her with and the ache in her chest when she woke and he wasn’t there beside her. 

  “You have Stockholm syndrome, bitch,” Madison said when she finally confessed these dreams to a few in the house.  “You spent a couple of months in the Underworld with the hot spawn of Satan and emotionally bonded with him.  Now you want to suck his dick, and I can’t really blame you.”  She took a drag off her cigarette.  Cordelia didn’t allow smoking in the house, so the girls were outside in the garden.  Mallory waved a hand to clear the fumes from her face, careful to not spill the sweet tea in her other hand—despite November being right around the corner, it was still hot enough that sitting outside with a sugary sweet drink was as refreshing as it had been in the summertime.   

  “Put that thing out before I kill you again,” Queenie told her, pointing a finger at Madison, who rolled her eyes dramatically before putting it out in the ash tray--she knew if anyone was serious about the threat of killing her again, it was probably Queenie. 

  “Guys,” Mallory said a little desperately, “what do I do?” 

  “As much as I hate to admit it, this diva is probably mostly right—you're just working through your trauma,” Queenie told her. 

  “But nothing traumatizing happened.  There’s no reason for me to still be thinking about this or to be feeling anything about it!”  She slammed her glass of sweet tea on the table and looked at them with frustrated tears in her eyes.  “It’s finished, so why can’t I move on?” she whispered. 

  Both of her sisters stared at her in shock.  She had never really raised her voice before, much less slammed something down and yelled.  They glanced at each other before Queenie put a comforting hand on her shoulder.  Mallory fought desperately to keep the tears from spilling over. 

  “You were kidnapped, taken to Hell, and almost died,” Madison said with surprising softness.  “It’s okay to  _not_ be okay.” 

  “I  _want_ to be okay.” 

  “We all  _want_ to be okay,” Queenie told her.  “But we’ve all got our shit to deal with.  Hell, that bitch over there has died and come back three times.  I’ve died twice.  It’s not easy, but you work through it and try to get back to normal, Mallory.” 

  She wrapped her arms around them both, unable to speak because of the tightness in her throat. 

  Try to get back to normal. 

   _Try_.  She would  _try_. 

 

 

  For a while it worked.  She compartmentalized.  During the day, she went to lessons and was close to the Mallory she’d been before—she even found herself feeling like her old self, laughing easily and feeling such pride and joy when she used her magic. 

  But then nighttime came, and she spent it all with him.  She pretended like she wasn’t excited to go to sleep most nights, thrilled by the prospect of seeing him again, even if was only in her imagination. 

  Or so she thought.  These dreams had always seemed to vivid, as if she were living them in every single lovely—sometimes sinful—detail, and when Michael told her they were sharing their dreams, she knew it was the truth.   

  And had immediately been humiliated as her mind traced back to all that had been done over those weeks.  To her fury, he’d had the audacity to laugh at the whole thing.   

  “It’s not funny,” she said, throwing a pillow at his head, which made him laugh harder. 

  She’d never seen him truly and joyfully laugh before.  It was such a lovely sound that she finally joined in, laughing with him until her stomach hurt.  It was such a wonderful feeling to just be with him and enjoy herself. 

  Then she had woken, just before giving in and telling him she missed him.  Which was a good thing, she reminded herself.  There were so many things standing in the way of them being together--she couldn’t live Below without dying; he couldn’t live Above without inadvertently bringing about the apocalypse; he was immortal and ageless; she would gray and wither until she eventually died. 

  She went to the library at Miss Robichaux’s, desperate for a spell to separate their dreams.  This was too painful now, knowing he was real and not just in her head.  She found an old, complicated spell that she knew would require someone powerful to help her. 

  She only knew of one person powerful enough to help her, but she did  _not_ want to bring Cordelia into this.  She squeezed the book to her chest, the magic seeping out and wrapping around her.   

  She had two options: tell her Supreme she’d been visiting with the enemy practically since she’d first come back or spend every night with Michael knowing they could never be with each other.  And have Michael slowly watch her age while he remained young and beautiful.  And every morning wake feeling a hollowness deep in her soul. 

  There weren’t any options in her mind.  The next morning, she was at Cordelia’s office door, chest tight with anxiety.  She knocked with a shaking hand and stepped in after the doors were opened by Cordelia’s telekinesis. 

  “What do you need, Mallory?” she asked with a smile. 

  Mallory slammed the spell book onto her desk, and with one breath, before she lost the courage, said, “I’ve been sharing dreams with Michael, and I need you to help me with this spell so we can be separated.” 

  “Wait—what?  Has he been hurting you in any way?”  

  “No!” Mallory said quickly at the anger flashing in Cordelia’s eyes.  She had no doubt her Supreme would go to the Underworld for the sole purpose of taking Michael’s head off.  “No, he hasn’t hurt me.” 

  A pause between the two of them where both seemed a bit speechless. “How long has this been going on?” 

  She looked away from Cordelia’s dark eyes.  She didn’t want to say aloud how weak she’d been, how long he’d been part of her dreams. 

  “How long, Mallory?  Hey, it’s okay.  You can to tell me.”  The Supreme stood from her chair and walked around the desk.  She gently put a hand on top of Mallory’s, which rested on the spell book. 

  “Almost since I first got back.  I thought they were just dreams, but then we started talking and realized they weren’t; we were actually seeing each other’s astral projections, and, Cordelia, I’m so sorry,” she said in a rush.  Her breaths were becoming shallow, and she was on the verge of a panic attack. 

  “Hey, hey, it’s okay.”  Cordelia pulled her into a hug, smoothing a hand over her hair.  Mallory wrapped her arms tight and clung like a scared child.  “We’ll fix this.” 

  “Okay.”  Mallory’s tears made splotches on the Supreme’s blouse, but neither cared.  They stood holding each other for a long time. 

 

  The spell took hours to complete.  The house was emptied, the girls sent on an overnight field trip to Misty’s swamps with Queenie, Zoe, and Madison, who were the only three who knew what was really happening.  The rest of the girls were under the impression that Mallory was still too weak to leave the house. 

  She didn’t care what they thought as long as this spell worked.   _I won’t see him again_ , she thought, pretending the idea was comforting.  It actually made her sad to think she’d never see those strange, piercing eyes alight with amusement at her anger, never feel his rings burning cold into her skin as he caressed her face and whispered how he loved her. 

  She took Cordelia’s hands in hers.  They sat opposite each other in a circle of salt and sheep’s blood.  Candles illuminated their faces and made shadows dance on the walls. 

  “Are you ready?”  

  Mallory nodded.  Together they chanted the spell, odd Latin and French words rolling off their tongue and sharpening the air with magic.  Her eyes got heavy, and her hands started to slip from Cordelia’s.  The Supreme put her hands behind Mallory and gently lowered her to the floor. 

 She was barely aware of it, already slipping into the realm of dreams.  She was dimly aware that a symbol was being made on her forehead with the sheep’s blood and a small burlap sack being slipped into her hand.   

  Awareness slowly came back to her, and her limbs lost their numbness.  When she opened her eyes, she was in Michael’s bedroom floor.  She was looking around and noting that it was almost identical to the one she’d slept in when the door creaked open. 

  He stepped through the door and tossed his jacket to the bed before even noticing she was there.  His eyes widened, and he rushed forward to scoop her up in his arms.  He pulled her into a crushing hug.  Mallory held him like he was the only thing in the world.  They sat on the floor entwined with each other for a long while. 

  Finally he pulled away, hands on either side of her face as if he didn’t believe this was real. 

  “How are you here?” 

  “I’m not,” she told him with a shake of her head.  She put her hands over his, still cradling her face.  “This is just because of a spell.  Michael, I'm here to separate us.” 

  His brow furrowed and his grip tightened.  “Why would you do that?” 

  “Because it’s too painful to see you every night.  I could do it when I thought you were just part of my dream, but knowing it’s really you--I just can’t.” 

  He sighed, letting his hands drop to his lap.  She noticed his eyes were watery and pretended hers weren’t.   

  “Is this what you really want?” he asked. 

  “Yes.”  She nodded.  “Yes, it is.” 

  “Okay,” he said as he slowly stood.  He held his hand out to help her stand.  “If that’s what you really want.” 

  “That’s it?  You kidnapped me, forced me to stay here for three months, and you just...give in?  Doesn’t really seem like you.”  She grasped his hand and stood.  She had been so sure she was going to have to force him to do this, maybe even resort to trickery. 

  “I almost killed you with the last decision I made for us.  If this is what you feel is best...then fine.”  She could see how it physically affected him to give up control—his fists were clenched, his jaw tight, and a vein throbbed in his neck.  He was such a control freak and hated this with every fiber of his being, but he was willing. 

  She stood on her tip toes and kissed him on the cheek.  He closed his eyes, and she sensed he was forcing himself to hold back from touching her. 

  “Thank you, Michael.” 

  “Anything for you.” 

  She handed him small burlap sack and instructed him to pour it into a drink before he went to bed that night.  The spell was halfway completed because she’d already done it the night before, explaining why the connection between them had been so sluggish and strange.  He kneaded the bag between his fingers and gave her a nod.   

  “You can go back now,” he said a bit harshly.  “Go back to your coven, away from the darkness you pretend you don’t want, Mallory.” 

  “Stop it,” she commanded.  “Don’t end things like this because you’re upset and hurt.” 

  He took a deep breath.  His knuckles were white around the burlap sack, as if it caused him pain to force out the words, “You’re right.  I'm sorry.” 

  She stared at him a moment, taking him in one last time.  In the soft candlelight, he looked deceptively angelic.  

  “Goodbye, Michael.”  Her voice was hoarse and thick with emotion.   

  “Mallie,” he said as she closed her eyes and willed her body’s fingers to start moving Above—her sign to the Supreme that she was ready to leave.  “Cordelia isn’t telling you the truth about who you are.  You’re half angel; that’s why it almost killed you to live down here.” 

  She opened her eyes and stared at him in confusion.  He wasn’t lying; his eyes held only sincerity in them.  

  “This could just be a ploy to turn me against my Supreme.  Why should I trust you?” she asked, feeling herself slipping away as Cordelia brought her back to consciousness Above. 

  He grinned his devil’s grin.  It used to unsettle her and make her shiver out of uneasiness.  Now, she shivered for a different reason. 

  “You shouldn’t.” 

 

  She woke with a gasp.  Gentle hands help her sit up, and she brought her knees up and rested her forehead there to stop the room from spinning. 

  “Shhh, it’s okay,” Cordelia said, running a hand across her shoulder blades.  “You’re safe.  Did he take it?” 

  Mallory nodded.  “Yes.  He also said something to me.  About you.” 

  She felt the Supreme tense a bit.  “Just rest.  We can talk later.” 

  “No, I want to talk now.”  She turned her head to look at Cordelia, who looked like she didn’t want to have this conversation now or later. 

  “He said I’m half angel.  But that can’t be possible; both of my parents were human...right?” 

  “Oh, Mallory,” Cordelia whispered, shaking her head, blonde locks falling over her shoulders.  “I was waiting to tell you.” 

  “It’s true?  No, it can’t be true.” 

  The Supreme took a shaky breath.  “If your powers weren’t proof enough, those scars on your back are the marks of angels and their children.” 

  “I’m not a witch?”  The devastation rang so clearly in her voice.  She had never belonged until she found the coven, and now she didn’t even belong there. 

  “I wouldn’t doubt that you have ancestors in Salem, but that’s not where your ability to heal and reverse time come from.  The way those powers manifest is divine, Mallory.” 

  “But...why didn’t you tell me?” 

  Cordelia’s brow furrowed.  She brushed Mallory’s hair over her shoulder and looked at her with the odd mix of pride and sorrow that only mothers can have—because she had accepted and loved her in ways that her birth mother hadn’t, Mallory knew that no matter what this woman wasn’t only her Supreme but her mother, her home Above. 

  “I was waiting until you stopped aging.  Most halflings stop around their late twenties, and I didn’t want to overwhelm you.  I didn’t want you to think you don’t belong, because this will  _always_ be your home,” Cordelia told her firmly.  “You are still part of the coven, and you are still part of this family.” 

  Mallory nodded, unable to speak at that moment.  She stared at the far wall, covered in portraits of Supremes of the past and one of the indomitable Myrtle Snow.   

  She laid her head on Cordelia’s shoulder.  She wasn’t human, not wholly.   _Just like Michael,_  whispered a small voice in her head.  She pushed the thought far away. 

  “I also didn’t want to burden you,” she heard softly.  She met Cordelia’s eyes again.  “Halflings exist for a purpose; their souls have a job.  Your kind protect the earth just by walking it, and keep chaos and evil at bay by exhibiting charity and kindness.” 

  “What happened while I was gone then?” 

  She paused, staring at Mallory with something like pity.  “You have to understand that you’re very powerful.  I don’t know who your divine parent is, but they passed on a great deal of power to you, and while you were gone, so was much of the healing light that protects this realm.  Darkness seeped in and the world feel into the negative, a nuclear winter of sorts with demons preying on the innocent.  We had to cast the most powerful protection spells in the history of this coven.”  She stood, gently bringing Mallory up with her.  “But you’re back now.  We don’t need to worry about it again, because your light will provide all the protection the world needs.” 

   _You’ll take the light when you leave_ , Mira had said. 

  Mallory had no idea how right she’d been. 

 

  She laid in her bed hours later, staring at the ceiling.  Her eyes were heavy, but she wouldn’t close her eyes for long, because she didn’t want to sleep.  After such a long, harrowing, day she found herself wanting a type of comfort she couldn’t get from her sisters or Cordelia.  And she had ended contact with the one person who could give it to her—all she wanted was to be held in  _his_ arms, to ask him how to deal with only being half human. 

  Knowing she wouldn’t find him tonight as she had before, she fell asleep thinking of him.   

  That night she was plagued with a horrific nightmare.  Michael sat on his throne with his throat slit, the vividly red blood seeping into the collar of his shirt.  A golden crown was askew on his head, and when she got closer, she saw it had bloody fingerprints all over it.    

  A pale, spindly hand appeared out of the shadows behind Michael’s corpse and yanked the crown away.  Another hand knocked his body off the throne and horrible, cruel laughter filled the air.  Mallory ran forward and covered his body with her own, feeling some urge to protect his body.  She closed her eyes tight and gripped his shirt so that it actually ripped beneath her fingertips. 

  Whispers started in her ears; cracked nails ran through her hair and caught it at odd places; and she felt those fingers bruising her body where they hit.  Tears streamed down her face and she let out sobs as she held Michael. 

   _“Move,”_  a voice whispered.  _“Let us have him._ _”_  

  “No!” she screamed hoarsely.  “Never!” 

  A hand grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head backwards.  She let out a cry of pain. 

   _“_ _This kingdom is ours!”_  

  Michael, who had seconds ago been lifeless beneath her, sprang up with a gasp.  He grabbed her and flipped them so his body was now protecting her.  He put his forehead on hers, and for a moment, the chaos stopped.  Mallory didn’t even notice the change in lighting or how it was getting hotter and hotter.   

  “I love you,” he said. 

  “I love you too.” 

  She pulled his mouth to hers, and they kissed until the throne room burned down around them.   

 

  She woke shaking.  That had not been a dream; it had been too vivid and too emotional.  That had been a prophecy.  She couldn’t work out what it all meant, but she got the gist—Michael was in trouble and only she could help.   

  She ran to the library, barely having enough forethought to pull on a robe over her pajamas.  She went straight to the oldest book in the room, the one Miss Cordelia had told them to steer clear of until they were a bit more experienced.   

  She used her telekinesis to open the book to the last chapter.  It prattled on for a few paragraphs about how dangerous descending into the Underworld was.  Mallory ignored them and skimmed until she saw the world  _physical body_.   

  Body tingling with anticipation, she bent over the page.  _Physically entering the Underworld is a task that proves deadly for many a witch,_ she read.   _However, rarely has this been a consequence because only two witches have ever managed to Descend, both physically and spiritually.  No spell or ritual was necessary for them, and the two were able to call upon a being within the Underworld that they knew personally._  

She gasped, slamming the book shut.  She didn’t know if it would work; she didn’t know if anyone was even listening to her, but Mallory knew she had to return to the Underworld.

"What are you doing?" she heard.

  Mallory whipped around and saw Madison standing in the door.

  "I'm...I..."

  "You're shitting me.  You're going _back_?  How could you do that to the coven, to Cordelia?" 

  "Madison, without me there--"

  "I don't want to hear your bullshit excuses, Mallory.  After everything--"

  "I love him," Mallory blurted out.  

  "It's Stockholm Syndrome."

  "No," she said shaking her head.  "It's something else connecting us.  Haven't you ever known something was right, even if you couldn't really explain it?"

  At this, the other girl was shockingly silent.  She crossed her arms low over her stomach.

  "Is it real?" she asked softly.

  "Yes.  It's realest thing I've ever known.  Please, Madison," she begged, "let me do this."

  Madison sighed dramatically.  "Fine.  I'll let Cordelia know you ran off to hell."

  Mallory gave her a nod and then bent back over the book.  She heard Madison's footsteps getting quieter, when they suddenly stopped.  

  "Good luck, Mallory."  And then she was gone before Mallory could thank her.  

  She was alone again.  She took a deep, steadying breath, clearing her mind and settling her soul.

 “Mira,” she called the quiet library.  “Mira, please.  I need you.” 

  A soft wind picked up.  Pages gently fluttered as the lesser demon stepped forward.  There was a strange rush of relief and familiarity at the sight of her.  The two stared at each other for a moment, words hanging in the air between them. 

  Then Mallory held her hand out.  “Take me home please.” 

  Mira grinned as she took her hand.    

   

The world went black as they descended, and she felt the rushing sensation she’d felt when Michael had first taken her.  But now she wasn’t scared and upset; she was excited and practically buzzing with anticipation. 

  Her feet hit the marble floor with a soft sound.  Mira gave her hand a squeeze and smiled. 

  “We’ve missed you, Mistress.” 

  “I’ve missed you too,” Mallory told her.  She was so surprised at how much she meant those words.   

  The lesser demon pulled her into a hug before saying, “He’s in his bedroom.  He’s waiting for you.” 

  Mallory thanked her and took off.  She started off walking, but then ended up sprinting.  Michael’s soul was calling to her like a siren’s song, and she followed it completely ensnared.   

  She threw the doors to his bedroom open, and jumped from edge of the bed in surprise.   

  His eyes blazed with anger as he said, “Cassian, if you come in here without knocking one more—” 

  He stopped dead, the color draining from his face.  She could see him thinking, working through scenarios in his head that could lead to her standing there.    

  ”Mallory.” 

  “Michael.” 

  She found she couldn’t move as he stepped forward.  He hesitantly touched her face, as if scared she’d disappear.  She wondered how many times he’d thought about this.  When he found she was solid, not a figment of his imagination or some waking dream, he scooped her up in his arms and spun her around.  She pressed her face into his hair and found it smelled just as it had in their shared dreams—like roses. 

  “You’re here,” he mumbled against her neck.  “You’re really here.” 

  “Yes, I'm here.”  She interlocked her fingers behind his neck as he sat her down.  He was smiling boldly and placed a kiss on her mouth.  It dimly occurred to her that this was their first kiss in the waking world. 

  “I had a horrible premonition,” she told him when they broke the kiss.  “You were dead and someone was taking your crown.” 

  “The other princes have been plotting against me.  I suppose if you’re seeing things like that, then they must be close to actually carrying it out and killing me,” he said dryly. 

  “Michael, what do we do?  How do we stop them?” 

  “ _We_ don’t do anything.  They’re my problems.” 

  “If it involves you getting murdered, I consider it my problem too.”   

  He rolled his eyes.  “You can’t even  _be_ here very long, Mallory.  If I don’t get you back soon, you’ll start to wither.” 

  He moved to separate himself from her, but she pulled him right back.  

  “I’ve been thinking about that, actually,” she told him.  “I think there’s a way I can stay down here with you and not start to die.” 

  His brow furrowed.  “You’re divine; this is exact opposite of what you need to survive, and--.” 

   _“Michael,”_  she said, “let me talk.  It’s the angel part of me that can’t survive down here.  What if I also had something from here bound to the angelic part?  What if you bound some of your essence to a fruit from Above, and I ate that?”  

 His eyes widened and his face broke into a smile.  “That just might work, Mallie.”  He tapped her temple.  “You’re a bit brilliant.” 

  “I know,” she said with a bright smile. 

 

  He sent Mira Above to fetch some fruit.  Mallory had been expecting an apple and was surprised when she was handed a pomegranate.   

  “I can bind my essence to a few seeds, and you’ll only have to be here a few months out the year,” he explained.  “The earth needs you as much as I do, and while I am a selfish man, I don’t want to deal with the influx of souls I'll get from the earth dying.” 

  He cut the pomegranate with a silver knife and pulled out six seeds.  He held them in his palm for a moment, and then breathed over then.  A thin wisp of black swirled from his lips, danced over the seeds in a rather hypnotizing manner, and then settled in them. 

  Mallory reached a hand forward, but he closed his fist around them.  

  “This is permanent,” he warned.  “For six months of the year, you’ll only be able to survive here, and the other six you’ll only be able to live Above.  Are you sure you want to do this? 

 _Are you sure you want to be with me?_ she heard under it all. 

  She tiptoed and kissed him on the cheek as she opened his palm.  She grabbed the seeds as she pulled away from him, and then put them in her mouth one by one.  He gave her a wicked grin before pulling her in for a deep, slow kiss, hands pushing her robe from her shoulders.

  Everything about the next few hours was slow and gentle—every touch a caress, every kiss languid, and every moment a reverant declaration of their love.  

  And neither one minded slow and gentle. They felt like they had all the time in the world.

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael finds peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Last chapter. This has been a journey, and I'm glad you all took it with me. Thank you for your support! I'll see you guys around :)

  Cordelia hadn’t been happy when she’d found out—and it gave him a little thrill of joy to see the Supreme so upset, though he’d never tell Mallory that.  But it didn’t stop him from wrapping his arm possessively around Mallie’s waist and pressing a kiss to her hair. 

  “Stop this nonsense!” Cordelia had yelled at him.  He could tell she wanted to rip his throat out, but her astral projection had no powers in his realm.  She’d grabbed Mallory’s hand in hers.   

“Mallory, I don’t know what lies he’s told you, but take my hand, and we’ll go home.” 

“He hasn’t lied to me.  I came here voluntarily, Cordelia.” 

“Then let’s leave voluntarily,” the Supreme begged.  “Please, you can’t survive down here.” 

“She can now, Miss Supreme,” Michael mocked, tightening his grip on Mallory’s waist.  “I gave her some of my essence, so she can survive here for six months out of the year and six months Above.” 

Oh, the terrible glee he felt at the dumbstruck look on her face.  “No...no...Mallory, how could you?” 

  He was close to smiling until he realized his Mallie sniffled.  He looked and saw she had tears in her eyes.  His malicious joy quickly turned to fear—what if she regretted this choice?  What if she found a way to undo it and left him again?  He had a horrible feeling that she wouldn’t come back if that were the case.  He rubbed a soothing hand up and down her back. 

  “It wasn’t an easy choice,” she said through her tears.  “If I leave here, then Michael could be killed by the other princes. My ‘divinity’”—she almost choked on the word—“is what keeps them at bay. And then Michael can hold them off for other half of the year.”

  He watched Cordelia’s jaw tighten.  Her eyes glanced toward him, and he saw so much hatred in them.  

  “How is any of that your problem?” 

  “I love him.”  She said it as if were a fact, the way she’d say the sky was blue.  As if it simply  _was_. 

  “Oh, sweet, sweet, Mallory.”  Cordelia put her hand on Mallory’s face.  “You’re so young that you don’t even know what true love is yet.” 

  “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand,” Michael warned, voice low and menacing. 

  “You be quiet,” she snapped at him. 

  “Both of you stop!” Mallory yelled.  She pulled herself out of Michael’s grasp and crossed her arms.  “I’ve made a choice that needs to be respected—there's really not another option since this is irreversible.  And I may be young, but I'm looking at eternity now, and I want to spend it with someone who will understand me, Cordelia.”  She took the Supreme’s hands between her own, eyes pleading.  “Please.  I need you to accept this.  Not understand it, but  _accept_ it.” 

  Cordelia stared into her eyes for a long time.  Finally, she sighed, pulling Mallory into a hug. 

  “Okay, okay.”  She smoothed her hands over Mallory’s dark hair.  She met Michael’s eyes.  Though she was only an astral projection, he swore he could feel the power emanating from her—not as powerful as his Mallie but still considerable.  “Hurt her and I kill you.” 

  “If I hurt her, I expect  _her_ to kill me, Cordelia.”  

 

  They had a ball to celebrate the return of Mallory and to officially coronate her as queen.  He couldn’t wait to see her in a crown, sitting on throne beside him.  Hers was carved from emerald and had precious gems set in it to look like flowers, a startling contrast to his onyx and diamond one.  

  It excited him to think of them in their thrones judging the souls, but for now they danced.  As he spun her, her long, heavy skirts flared out and hit his shins.   

  She smiled up at him as she spun back into his arms.  Her smile lit up the room and something deep in his soul.   

  He was aware there were other people on the dancefloor, that the witches were mingling among the demons, but he felt as if they were the only two in the entire world.  He leaned down, moving her hair out of way, and kissed just beneath her ear.  He felt her shiver and grinned.   

  “You look stunning, Mallie” he said. 

  “So do you,” she told him, running a hand over his shoulder.  He wore a black suit with gold filigree at the sleeve cuffs and along the lapels.  It complimented her dress, which was floor-length, golden, and sleeveless, with black lace coming up from the neckline to midway up her neck.  They looked like the queen and king they were meant be. 

  He kissed up her jaw until her found her lips, where he placed a quick, chaste kiss, though he wanted nothing more than to kiss her so deeply and passionately that it would’ve been sinful for others to look at them.  But her coven was here—upon her request and not without some protesting from him—and he knew that’d embarrass her, so he’d save all that for later.   

  He pressed his forehead against hers, closed his eyes, and brought his hand up to her neck under her hair, gently rubbing circles against her skin with his thumb.  Mallory looped her arms around his neck, and she gave a soft sigh of contentment. 

  For a moment, they stood there, eyes closed, and swaying to the soft music.  He heard the one named Madison scoff at them over her wine glass. 

  “I love you,” he whispered.   

  “I love you, too.”   

   

 

  It was tearful goodbyes the first time she had to leave him to be Above, and it was sorrowful but accepted within the next years.  No matter what, though, the hardest goodbye was the one on the ten-year anniversary of Mallory officially becoming queen.

  He laid on his side, head on Mallory’s chest.  She was on her back, one hand twined with his one that on her still-flat stomach and one running through his hair.    

  “I have to go soon, my love,” she said.   

  He sighed.    “I knew I should’ve just bound you hear year-round,” he told her, only halfway joking.   

  “I wish I could stay here, but you know the coven and the other halflings can only do so much without me.” 

  “Can’t your father do something?  Isn’t it the angels’ job to keep darkness and chaos at bay?” he asked irritated.  They passed all their work off to their children, and then did whatever it was angels did.  Michael thought this was a poor work ethic—even his father had kept spreading said darkness and chaos after he’d been born.   

  “He has bigger things to focus on, I guess.”   

  He could tell she was trying to not let her disappointment show, but it was obvious to anyone who knew her well.  He wished she’d never read those books, never summoned her angelic father.  But the man she’d called her father had died before she’d had a chance to reconnect with him, and she had been distraught about it.  He warned her that this whole ordeal wouldn’t go well—he knew how disappointing and painful it could be to meet someone who’d been built up in one’s head.  The day he’d finally managed to summon his father had been the day Miss Mead had finally died in that horrible hospital, surrounded by sterilized white and unfeeling machines, and his father had said he was pathetic.  Useless.  That had been the day he’d decided if he ended up disappointing people then he’d just disappoint everyone on his own terms.  He escaped to his father’s realm to rule part of the kingdom, forsaking his destiny but saving the earth.   

  The day Mallory had summoned her father, she’d used an old, incredibly powerful and dangerous spell to summon him.  She had not expected it to be an Archangel, but he had.  She was too powerful to be the offspring of some unnamed angel.  He’d waited, pacing the Throne Room filled with anxiety, as he waited for her to return.  She hadn’t let him be Above while she summoned something so heavenly, fearful of what would happen to him in the presence of an full angel.  He’d convinced her to wait and do it hours before she had to return to the Underworld, so he could trick himself into believing he could save her if something went wrong. 

  The moment she’d returned home for her six months, she’d been crying.  He’d silently pulled her into a hug and listened as she talked about how the Archangel Raphael had appeared to her in heavenly fire—the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, she said.   

  He’d stared at her for a moment, and then told her how disappointed they all were with her for laying in Michael’s bed and wearing his ring on her finger.  She had a divine purpose and she’d wasted it for no good reason. 

 

  He crawled on top of her and placed a kiss on her nose, one hand still gently caressing her stomach where their child was slowly growing, forming,  _being_.  He kissed her forehead and cheeks until she was giggling and telling him to stop. 

  “I love you,” she told him. 

  “You’re okay,” he teased. 

  “Oh, shut up.”  She pulled his head down, where he kissed her deeply, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth.  He moved his hand lower, rucking her skirt up and tracing the insides of her thighs with his fingertips. 

   _“Michael,”_  she gasped.  “Michael, stop.  I'm about to leave.  This’ll only end in disappointment.” 

  With a reluctant sigh, he rolled off her.  “I hate when you’re right.” 

  There was a faint knock at the door.  They both sat up as Mira entered.  She always cried and looked so morose when it was Mallory’s time to leave.  He knew it hurt the lesser demon to escort her queen Above for six months, but he knew himself well enough to be aware that he wouldn’t be able to let her go.   

  Tears trailed down her face as she held her hand out.  

  “It’s time.” 

  Mallory nodded, jaw tight.  She and Michael kissed each other again, but this was a chaste, sad kiss.  Before either could cry, she took the lesser demon’s hand and left. 

 

  Between the two nights he’d felt it his wards were strong enough to keep the other princes out of his kingdom for a night and the letters they sent each other, he hadn’t had nearly enough of his Mallie over the spring and summer.  Mortal time hadn’t really had any meaning before Mallory.  Now he waited for September like a child waited for their birthday. 

  At midnight of August thirty first, as summer became autumn in the eyes of the mortals, she returned.  He hadn’t seen her in  _weeks_ ; her hair was lighter, her stomach had rounder, and her face fuller.  She was so beautiful.  He ran and pulled her into a hug, mummering how much he’d missed her and breathing in as much of her cinnamon smell as he could. 

  She laughed at his enthusiasm, lacing her arms around him.  “I missed you too.” 

  He moved his hands to her stomach.  Mallory always had such life and light emanating from her, but now it seemed tripled while she carried their child.   _Their child_ —the words were so surreal to even think. 

  “Boy or girl?” he asked eagerly.  She had refused to tell him in the letters, insisting that she be there to see his reaction.  He didn’t care one way or the other, but he also didn’t like surprises. 

  She smiled so brightly that Michael felt he was staring into the sun.   

  “Both.  It’s twins.”  

  “Oh, Mallie,” he whispered after a pause.  He smiled just as brightly as her, mirroring her pure joy. 

 

 

  And weeks later, in what they in Above called November, he sat on the bed beside Mallory, quietly watching her as she slept.  Their children laid asleep in a wide bassinet beside the bed.  He pulled the blankets up over her chest before moving carefully so as to not wake her when he got out of the giant bed. 

  The babies slept peacefully.  They had been named after Mallory’s grandparents.  The boy was William Benjamin Langdon.  The girl was Dorothea Cordelia Langdon—her first name meant “God’s gift,” which his wife had found hilarious.  They’d fought about the middle name being after the Supreme, but Mallory had won after telling him Cordelia was the only mother she’d ever truly had.  So out of what Mallory would call pettiness, he’d insisted William have the name of someone he knew.  Since his only mildly positive male role models had been Tate and Ben, he choose the latter—at least Ben had tolerated him for a little while.

  “Will and Thea,” he whispered, staring down at them.  They were the most beautiful things he’d ever seen, and he couldn’t believe they were real as he gazed down.  They stirred as he rested his hands on their chests to feel their hearts beating.

  If he’d been told this was going to be his future the day he’d taken Mallory, he wouldn’t have dared to even believe it.  He was married to his equal, his soulmate.  Two beautiful children were  _his_.  His kingdom was ruled without fear of the other princes, for he had the divine power of an angel on his side.

  This wasn’t happiness, but contentment.  Michael realized the first night he had Mallory in his bed that he had never known what contentment was.  It had been an empty word, but when he had looked at her, tangled in his sheets as she slept, it suddenly had meaning.  It was a powerful, heavy word that meant peace and happiness—two things his life had scarcely had in it. 

  “Michael?” he heard softly behind him.  He turned and saw his wife halfway awake.  “Are they okay?” 

  “Perfect,” he assured her. 

  She tiredly held her hand out to him.  “Then come back to bed.” 

  He placed a kiss on each of the twins’ heads and carefully crawled back into bed.  He gave her enough space to feel comfortable because he knew her body was still healing after the long labor, but still had his hand wrapped around her arm. 

  “They’re so beautiful,” she mumbled, eyes closed as she started to fall asleep again.  “So perfect.” 

  “Just like you.” 

  She opened her eyes and looked at him.  It had been over a decade now, and he still couldn’t believe she loved him as much as he loved her. 

  “No, Michael.  Just like  _you_.” 

  


	8. Chapter 8

Hi! I took down the epilogue because I wasn’t happy with it, and am using this to make an announcement: I’ve decided to rewrite Atonement and make it longer! It’ll have quite a few chapters, but I really want to expand on the story.

This shorter version will stay up, but I just wanted to let everyone know ❤️

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at wonderfulandfanciful on Tumblr, if you wanna talk


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